A Family Affair
by andrhats
Summary: No good deed goes unpunished - especially not when said deed is saving a young Yakuza member's life. But what if the reward is an irrefutable offer?


**A Family Affair**

* * *

In hindsight, Link probably should have kept walking.

This wasn't even his usual route home; he'd been forced to take a detour because of a fire in an apartment building near his own that had the fire department closing off the entire street, prompting Link to take a shortcut through the alleys. His aching lower back had refused to take the longer, safer path, figuring the fire would have drawn the usual scum out to spectate rather than lurk in the dark corners.

He was very, very wrong.

Not that anyone came after him, no. If he'd just taken a right instead of a left, he wouldn't have heard the pained groan and the sound of a fist against flesh, the jeers of the sewer rats ganging up on their chosen target, the laughing echoing through the alleys, bouncing off the hard brick and cobbles.

In all, the sort of situation someone like Link, a nobody whose contributions to the world involved moving crates from one spot in a dingy warehouse to another, had no business witnessing, much less intervening in.

Link peeked around the corner, clutching the paper bag containing the ingredients to the meagre dinner he'd planned for the night to his chest, eyes widening when he spotted the source of the sound.

A boy, surely not much younger than Link himself, surrounded by a group of rough-looking men whose idea of a good time was best not uttered aloud in polite company. The sort that spent more time in jail than outside of it. The sort that saw no problem in beating up those weaker than themselves just for kicks.

The sort Link had to deal with on a daily basis, forced to fight just to keep his job in the warehouse unless he wanted to be replaced by someone who'd work more for less...which was barely anything to begin with. In the back of his head, a voice was telling him to stay away, to turn around and walk back the way he came, pretend he didn't see anything at all.

The young man's eyes—a deep red that seemed to swallow the light—caught Link's, and the decision was made for him. He barely realised he'd dropped his grocery bag before he stepped forward, into the little space between the rickety buildings, drawing a deep breath as shouting:

"Hey! What do you think you're doing?!"

One of the men, his face a mess of scars and ox-broad shoulders, turned and looked at him with a disinterested expression.

"Just showing this blood-eye what happens when he walks into the wrong turf," he said, gesturing to the Sheikah, who was now curled in on himself, trying to shield his body from the kicks and punches aimed his way. "Gotta show 'em they're not welcome in this part of town."

Link looked at the red stains on the young man's shirt, which had probably been pristinely white before he'd run into these guys. Now it was torn and bloody.

"I think he's learned his lesson," Link said.

"Nah," the man disagreed. "Not yet."

A particularly vicious kick caught the Sheikah in the ribs, and he gasped, coughing wetly. The man who'd kicked him practically cackled with glee.

"You're going to kill him," Link tried, trying to step closer, but finding the big man suddenly in his way.

"That's the idea," the man replied, his grin missing several teeth. "Blood-eyes only learn when you start dumping 'em on doorsteps. Gonna take our time with this one." He gave Link a once-over, shrugging. "You want in?"

Link grimaced. "No, thanks."

The man nodded. "Fine, then you can fuck off."

"Let him go."

The gap-filled grin was brought to bear again. "What, you like 'em or something? Wanna fuck 'em?"

Link clenched his fists at his sides. Starting a fight with this guy was a bad idea—he was barely half the bastard's weight, if even that. Coupled with his three friends, Link didn't stand a chance. But he couldn't just walk away and let them kill the Sheikah either, no matter how much his common sense told him it wasn't worth it.

"I just don't see the point in killing him," he said with a tightly clenched jaw. "And neither will the police."

The man barked a laugh. "The cops? They'll just come help _us_, you idiot! Now fuck off before I break _your_ face too—just looking at you is pissing me off!"

The Sheikah's eyes caught Link's again, and a single look at the bloody nose, the split lip, the bruising and swelling...it brought back all those memories of growing up with nothing, having to fight just to stay alive.

Before he knew it, Link's fist was moving. The man hadn't expected it, not even making an effort to block it as it struck his face. Link's aim was off, his anger affecting his swing. It was a good thing, because it meant Link's knuckles caught the man's nose instead of his cheek. He felt the soft cartilage giving under the weight of his blow, snapping and breaking.

The man howled, stumbling away, nose gushing blood, howling unintelligible words that drew the attention of his cronies, who immediately abandoned their first quarry and went for Link, who barely had time to brace himself before they slammed into him, fists, knees, and feet aiming for every part of him.

Old instincts took over, and Link met them head-on, dodging and weaving through the blows, never staying still in one spot long enough for the thugs to get a proper bead on him, his feet continually moving as he waited for a proper window to—

There!

He took a fist meant for his face to the shoulder, letting the momentum bring the other one forward, giving the man a taste of his right hook. He looked confused for a moment, but then Link's hook was followed up with an uppercut to the chin that, for a single moment, made his face look like a bowl of jelly. His eyes went vacant, and his body hit the ground, out cold.

One down, three to go. It cost him, though. Link's world tilted as something struck him in the temple and nearly sent him down as well. He managed to stagger away, vision tunnelling slightly, barely keeping his footing, and lashed out vaguely in the direction the blow had come from. He hit something soft, but it did not do any damage, judging by the dark barrel-shape that came hurtling into the corner of his vision. Instinct took over again, and Link threw himself backwards, his back colliding painfully with the brick wall behind him but saving him from getting bull-rushed by the heaviest-looking thug, who flew past in a blur, stumbling from overbalancing.

There was a loud oof, and the sound of splintering wood as the thug crashed into a bunch of empty crates piled up nearby.

The third thug, a skinny beanpole of a man, was next. He came at Link with a series of kicks that were surprisingly quick, but then he'd have to be, on account of the complete and utter lack of muscles. Luckily, there wasn't much weight to his blows, and Link simply let the man wail on him until his vision stabilised and his balance returned, at which point Link stepped forward, grabbed the man's neck, reared back, and slammed his forehead into the bridge of the guy's nose.

It was the third nose Link had broken that day, thanks to that one dockhand who'd been a little too uppity for his own good. One more, and Link would break his record.

Down the beanpole went, nose gushing like a pair of red, upside-down geysers, his screaming muffled by his hand as he tried to stem the flow, all thoughts of fighting gone.

By now, the first man, the apparent leader of this brain trust, was on his feet, eyes cold with murder. "Bull, fucking kill him!" he shouted, his words extremely nasal.

"On it," the biggest thug said, finally free of the crates he'd crashed into, breaking an empty bottle he'd found against the wall. Link paused, glaring at the improvised weapon. He could fend off blows just fine, but that thing would cause trouble. What he wouldn't give for his trench spade right now...

"That's enough!"

It couldn't have taken more than two seconds, maybe two and a half at the most. One moment, the red-eyed man had been on the ground, groaning and writhing in pain, the next he was on his feet, standing behind the first man, holding a sharp-looking blade against his throat.

"Urgh, fucking—"

"Let's not make this day any worse than it already is," the young man said, face hidden behind a bloody lock of blonde hair, the visible part of his mouth locked in a frown. "Let's not have it end in bloodshed." He paused, grinning a bit. "Well, _more_ bloodshed, that is. Call off your friends and walk away."

"Like hell I will, you damn blood-eye—ah!"

The young man tightened his hold on the man, letting the blade cut a little into the skin of his throat.

"I sharpened it this morning," the young man said quietly. "By the time you find medical help, it'll be too late. Call. Them. Off."

The thug gave a frustrated growl but nodded. "Fucking fine, fine! You win! Bull, grab Scab'n Shanks—get 'em out of here."

The big thug made a frustrated noise, but did as he was told, easily grabbing pulling the beanpole to his feet after tossing the one Link had knocked out over his shoulder, walking away.

The young man waited until the others were a sufficient distance away before removing the blade and giving his hostage a vicious kick to the backside, sending him stumbling away.

"You'll regret this, blood-eye! We'll let you go this time, but don't you dare show your face 'round here again! This is a Hylian neighbourhood, not a rat hive!" the man spat, giving Link an equally poisonous glare. "And you, you fucking traitor! We'll be seeing _you_ later!"

"Try it," Link said calmly, ignoring the throbbing in his temple and ache just beneath his eye that heralded a nice shiner for him in the morning. "You'll only regret it."

"Just you wait," the thug said, pointing at him. "We don't like your kind 'round here either!"

Link waited until he heard the footsteps fade away completely before daring to take his eyes off the alley they'd gone down, breathing out and letting the pain of the punches and kicks wash over him, happy to find that no bones had been broken during the fight. The sound of metal clatter drew his attention to the young man, gasping when he saw him back on the ground, his hand around his middle, having dropped the knife.

"Are you okay?" Link asked, taking a few wobbly steps to crouch at the young man's side, the adrenaline from the fight quickly draining from his system and leaving him shaking. "Hey..."

"Cut me with my own blade," the young man said through a bloody grin. "How pathetic am I...?"

Link looked at the knife in question, pondering at the design. The handle was wood, with no ornamentation of any kind. The blade itself was curved, like those exotic, foreign swords, only much shorter. A few paces away, a hollow, wooden tube he assumed to be the blade's sheath lay on the ground. The metal was high quality, and there was no denying its sharpness, even from a distance. Which meant...

"Let me see," Link said, carefully touching the man's shoulder, urging him to uncurl from his foetal position. He hissed as he saw the tear in the once-white dress shirt, and the cut that marred the flesh beneath it. A long, horizontal slice across his stomach. It brought to mind unpleasant images he'd seen from the Calamity War. Luckily, this wound wasn't nearly as deep as those he'd seen in the photographs—little more than skin-deep, looking a lot worse than it really was.

"What're you doing?"

He looked up and found the young man's crimson eyes staring into his own, a confused expression on his face. Up close, Link realised he and the Sheikah were probably around the same age, with the Sheikah a little younger, though he looked younger on account of his slender frame and almost flawless, olive skin. Well, flawless save for the rapidly darkening bruises beneath it.

He was quite pretty, though Link did his best to stomp down those thoughts immediately. His reputation was bad enough as it was if he wasn't going to add to it with this.

"Helping?" Link said, confused. "You're bleeding."

"Yes, I know," the Sheikah said, sounding equally confused. "I'm wondering why. Hylians generally try to have as little to do with people like me as possible, but you interfered with that fight. Why?"

"Wasn't much of a fight," Link pointed out, with a snort.

"I had them!" the Sheikah growled. "I was just about to turn the tables on them and make 'em regret ever touching me, but you just had to ruin it, didn't you? Got yourself hurt in the process, too!"

Link couldn't help but grin at the false bravado. "Forgive me," he said drily. "I had no idea how badly you were about to beat them. I'll be sure to stand clear next time."

"Yeah, well...I suppose I can forgive you, since you broke that asshole's nose. He's the one that cut me," the Sheikah said, wincing as a slight movement must have pulled at his wound. "Shit..."

"It's not going to kill you," Link said, looking at the wound again. "But you'll still need to get it cleaned and stitched up. Come on, I'll get you to a hospital—"

"No!" the Sheikah exclaimed, grabbing Link's wrist, gasping when that only made the pain worse. "No hospital!"

"This isn't the sort of thing you'll just walk off, idiot!" Link said disbelievingly. "You need a doctor!"

"They'll just call the cops when they see the wound, if they don't turn me away at the door," the Sheikah said, glaring at him. "You know what they do to people like me. I need...I need to go home!"

"And where is 'home'?" Link asked.

"Where do you think?" the young man said, chuckling weakly. "Sheikah Ward."

Link sighed. "That's fifteen blocks away—no way we'll make it that far without attracting attention."

"No shit!"

Honestly, Link should have walked away by now. He'd stopped what he strongly suspected was about to turn into a murder, but the victim was being very uncooperative, and it was getting old. It'd been a long day to begin with, and he had a feeling it was only going to get longer if he didn't separate himself from this situation immediately.

...but...

Link had never been able to walk away from someone who needed help, not even those who tried to refuse it. He could see fear in the Sheikah's eyes, not necessarily at the wound itself, but at what would happen if he were caught alone _again_ by thugs, this time with an injury. There'd definitely be murder scene then.

Sighing, Link realised there was only one thing to do. He reached for the dropped knife and sheathed it in the wooden scabbard, shoving it into his back pocket. Of all the stupid things to be carrying around...

"Does your home have a telephone?" he asked the Sheikah who nodded. "Know the number?" Another nod. "All right, then."

"Wait, what are you doi—argh!"

Link paid little mind to the other's complaints as he hoisted him up from the ground, put his arm over his shoulder for support and began marching them both out of the alleys.

"What're you doing?" the Sheikah asked again, looking like he was ready to bolt at any second, but still cooperating with being carried (more like dragged) along. Probably because Link suspected he was going to collapse if he didn't have anything to keep him up.

"I'm taking you back to my place," Link explained slowly. "I have a telephone. Use it to call your friends, or family, or whatever, and have them come pick you up."

"Ah...and how do I know you're not just bringing me to another bunch of fairskins who'll finish the job?"

Link paused, glaring at the Sheikah. "If I wanted you dead, I would've just let them kill you without interfering." He pulled him along a little harsher than necessary, causing the young man to hiss with displeasure. "I'm your best bet for getting home alive, right? So how about cooperating and, if possible, showing a little gratitude?"

"Eugh, fine, if that'll make you happy..."

The Sheikah's tone suggested he was doing Link some sort of favour in not struggling.

Such a brat, Link thought. But then...he did almost get murdered in an alley. I'd be a little grouchy too, in his place.

"So...what's your name?" he asked, hoping to at least open up a friendlier line of communication.

"What's it to you?"

What little goodwill had been there must've drained away with the adrenaline, if the Sheikah's continually worsening attitude was anything to judge by. Link's own mood wasn't exactly improving by the minute either.

Maybe I could just leave him at a phone booth? Nah, a passing patrol car might spot him...

It was no secret that the police department, staffed almost exclusively by Hylians, wasn't particularly interested in helping anyone outside of their own race. The various peoples of Kakariko had their troubles with the police in general, but the Sheikah in particular usually got the short end of the stick.

Or thick end of the baton, depending on the officers involved and whether or not there was a handy place to hide the body nearby.

Link sighed. "Maybe I'd like to know the name of the guy I just got myself a shiner and possible concussion for?" he said. "Ain't every day I get involved in a fight I'm not paid for, you know?"

Hah, like that was even remotely true.

The Sheikah at least looked a little shameful at that. "...it's Sheik," he said after a long moment of silence, coming out as a near mumble.

Link blinked. "Sheik the Sheikah?" he asked.

"Is there a problem?" Sheik—apparently—asked sharply.

"No, not at all," Link replied quickly, not willing to start another fight so soon, and definitely not over a damn name!

"Good," Sheik said. "In my culture, it's actually an honour to be named after the people."

"Fair enough," Link said, quietly navigating their way through the winding alleys, passing several groups of suspicious and shifty-looking individuals, none of whom paid them any mind, too wrapped up in their own shady deals. There were talks of reinstating prohibition, and certain groups were already preparing, it seemed.

"And yours?" Sheik asked after another period of silence.

"Link."

"Hmph."

The rest of the walk was quiet save for the Sheik's muffled grunts of pain and Link's murmured reassurances that they were almost there. Only when they reached the back entrance to Link's apartment building, the lock broken long ago, did Sheik speak again.

"Thanks," he said quietly, looking pointedly away from Link, face twisted in a petulant grimace, which made the Hylian smile.

He'd take it.

* * *

Thankfully, no one spotted Link bringing the groaning, bleeding Sheikah into his fifth-floor apartment. The last thing he needed was his landlord getting on his case about bringing undesirables into the building, not to mention leaving blood stains all over the tiled floor. He made sure not to leave an incriminating trail to his door, breathing a sigh of relief once he had the door closed and locked.

He placed Sheik in the kitchen, where the blood wouldn't be too hard to clean up, watching for a moment as the Sheikah sank onto the chair, the frame creaking dangerously under his non-existent weight. There really wasn't much to Sheik in the way of size—almost had Link wondering whether the young man ate regularly or not. From what he'd seen, Sheikah in general were quite slender, but Sheik in particular seemed skinnier than most. Could just be stuck in that awkward stage between teenager and young adulthood, of course, coupled with a bit of malnourishment from the time following the Calamity, but...

He shook his head, pointing at Sheik. "Stay there," he ordered before going into his bathroom. A tiny space, with barely enough room to turn sit down on the water closet, but Link had considered it a luxury to have a restroom of his own rather than having to share one with the rest of the building. He opened the mirror above the sink and fished out what he needed.

A roll of gauze, some scissors, and a bucket of water with some disinfecting soap.

He brought it back into the kitchen, where Sheik was still slumped in the chair, looking absolutely miserable. Feeling a bit sorry for the younger man, Link also fetched the bottle of whiskey he'd stashed on top of his fridge, hidden behind a row of unused cooking books. He placed the bottle and a glass on the table in front of the Sheikah, gesturing to it.

"Have at it. This is going to hurt anyway."

"Shouldn't we be using _this_ to clean the wound?" Sheik asked, grabbing the whisky and pulling out the cork, forgoing the glass and drinking straight from the bottle.

"That could make it worse," Link said, checking to make sure the soap had diluted enough in the water. "Water and mild soap are better. Take your shirt off."

Sheik sputtered, the burning alcohol catching his throat, making him cough. The wound glistened angrily in the light of the kitchen lamp, droplets of red splattering on Link's kitchen tiles.

"Wh-What?" Sheik rasped.

"I need to see the full extent of the wound, and your shirt's in the way," Link said matter-of-factly. "Take it off." When Sheik didn't move, he reached for the buttons himself, but the Sheikah slapped his hand away.

"I'll do it myself!" Sheik barked, his cheeks turning a rather lovely shade of crimson in embarrassment. He carefully undid the buttons of his stained shirt and pushed his braces aside. The movements caused him pain, pulling at the edges of the cut, and Link had to help him out of the garment in the end, though at least Sheik didn't yell at him for it.

A splash of colour on Sheik's shoulder gave Link pause, and his eyes followed the line to Sheik's back.

Vivid colours covered the entirety of it, depicting what appeared to be a rising dragon, composed of multiple flowing lines, all vivid shades of red. Surrounding the dragon were what seemed to be cowering enemies, not rendered in near as much detail, but still created with swirling lines, pure black. Fire spewed out of the dragon's mouth at the enemies, all of whom were kneeling or lying dead. The contours and lines were so sharp, it looked like it had been done on paper rather than soft skin. Link found himself reaching out, trying to touch, but Sheik pulled away from his questing fingers.

"Please don't," Sheik said quietly, cheeks still red. "It's new. Still...tender."

Shaking his head, Link pulled himself back into the situation at hand, kneeling down and soaking a clean cloth with the soapy water. "Sorry about this," he said. "Brace yourself."

Careful as he tried to be, having a wound cleaned out in this way was far from pleasant. It was one thing to just pour water on it, but Link had to make sure no filth had gotten into it, no stray fibres from his clothing. It meant he had to be thorough and could not stop even if Sheik asked him to.

He didn't, surprisingly enough. There were grunts and sharp inhales at the pain of it, but Sheik bore with it, his eyes firmly on the kitchen wall and hand tightly clenching the neck of the whisky bottle. Every now and then he took a shaky swig.

As he worked, Link tried not to let his mind wander too far...which was easier said than done considering the tattoo he'd just seen. The tattoo itself wasn't the problem. What it represented, however...

"Half-Sun," Sheik said unprompted.

Link paused, looking up. Sheik was staring at him with half-lidded eyes from the pain. "What?"

"Half-Sun," Sheik repeated. "My clan. You saw the tattoo; you know what I am."

"It's none of my business," Link said, continuing his work. The less said about this, the better. Plausible deniability, and all that.

Sheik made a humming sound, but said no more, nursing the whisky. He didn't speak again until Link had started wrapping his middle with the gauze.

"You fight well."

Link didn't pause in his work, making sure the gauze was wrapped tight, but not so tight as to be uncomfortable or disturb the wound.

"Had to learn, as a kid," he replied. "Orphanage kicked me out when I was nine—if I didn't fight, I wouldn't survive."

"That's where you learned to take care of wounds too?"

"I had others with me, in my gang," Link said, fighting down the unbidden images that came to his mind's eye from those days. The faces he'd never see again. "Had to take care of them."

"I see..."

Link sat back on his haunches, looking over his work.

"This is just a temporary measure," he said, gathering his supplies and bringing the bucket, the water now red-tinted, back into the bathroom, pouring the contents into the toilet. "I can't stitch it up for you—you'll need a proper doctor for that."

"We have one," Sheik said.

"Good."

He ignored the blood stains on his kitchen floor, opting to pull Sheik out of his chair and walk him into the living room...or the part of the one-room apartment he used as a living room, at least. And bedroom. He put Sheik in the sofa next to his telephone, gesturing to the device.

"Go on, call your...family?"

"Family," Sheik confirmed with a nod, picking up the receiver and turning the dial.

Link left him to it, returning to his kitchen with a fresh bucket of water and soap, beginning to clean up the stains. He tried not to listen, he really did, but Sheik's voice seemed to carry quite well. Or maybe it his slight accent, those rolling Rs of his, that just forced its way into Link's ears. Cheeks heating up, Link scrubbed harder.

"It's me...yeah, I'm fine, no worries. Well, there was a bit of an incident, I—no, no, I'm fine. Just a little cut, that's all...what? No."

Sheik continued to speak, switching over to his mother tongue. It was quite lovely to listen to, in Link's opinion. He only hoped Sheik wasn't telling whoever was on the other line to come kill him for getting involved in Yakuza business.

Just his luck, really, this.

"Link?" Sheik was looking at him over the back of the couch. "What's the address?"

"Thirty-four Thatcher Street," he replied.

"Thanks," Sheik said, repeating the address into the receiver. The person on the other line spoke again. "No, just a...friend. He helped me."

Link supposed he should be thankful Sheik called him a friend rather than a kidnapper. He finished cleaning the kitchen and went to his dresser, fishing out a clean shirt which he tossed to Sheik.

"Here, put this on."

Not that Link minded having a half-naked Sheikah on his sofa, really, but he looked a bit cold.

"Thanks," Sheik said again, pulling it on carefully. "It's a bit big," he said with a snort. Link couldn't help but laugh at the sight of Sheik drowning in the fabric. He knew his upper body was broader than Sheik's, but this was ridiculous.

"Maybe you'll grow into it someday," Link playfully suggested, taking a seat beside him on the sofa, drinking from the whisky bottle before handing it back to Sheik. The side of his face was still throbbing, but at least he didn't seem to have gotten concussed. He'd still be black and blue tomorrow, judging by his reflection.

"I might give it to my cousin," Sheik said, sinking into the worn cushions. "She'll fill it out better than you, even."

"Har har," Link scoffed. "So? What's going on?"

"They're sending a car," Sheik explained, closing his eyes. "Should be here in a little while."

"Ah, good."

"I...er..."

"Hm?"

Sheik had his hands in his lap, fists clenched.

"Thank you," he said, but this time it sounded genuine. "For the help, I mean. Both in the fight and...well, now. You didn't have to interfere like that, but you did anyway. I acted...dishonourably. So, I thank you...and beg your forgiveness." He kept his gaze fixed on the window. "I am...generally expected kneel and bow when making an apology like this, but—"

"Ah, that's not necessary," Link said hurriedly, horrified at the thought of someone bowing and scraping to him, even in contrition. "Please. I was happy to help, and...well, I wouldn't have been too happy either in your place. Please, don't worry about it."

"I appreciate the sentiment," Sheik said with a nod. "But still, a debt is owed. I don't have anything with which to repay it right now, but when I get home—"

"Again, don't worry about it, please," Link said. "I just want this over and done with, and you home safe. I don't need any repayment or anything like that. I just...I wanted to help. That's it."

Sheik looked at him closely with narrowed eyes, as if searching for something. Maybe at a hint of a lie in his face, or something. Finding nothing, he slowly nodded.

"As you wish."

Link breathed out in relief. Thank Hylia. He was on the ropes as it was, the last thing he needed was yet more weight on his shoulders.

"Have you lived here long?" Sheik asked suddenly, gesturing around them.

"Um...a few years," Link said, knowing it seemed like anything but. The kitchen table and chair, the sofa, the dresser, the bed and nightstand, and a small bookcase were the only pieces of furniture he owned, and they had hardly been new when he moved in. There were no photographs on the walls, no random knickknacks or thingamajigs that proved their owner had been out and about, had some experience. The peeling wallpaper and cracks in the ceiling only made it all look worse.

"I would have guessed weeks," Sheik said drily.

"You would have guessed wrong."

"Evidently," Sheik agreed. "Where do you work?"

Was he...being polite? Making small talk to put Link at ease while they waited for Sheik to be picked up? He didn't ask these questions with the vague air of disinterest one usually had, though.

"The docks," Link said, wishing they could just...well, be quiet. "Shipping warehouse."

"Logistics," Sheik said, nodding to himself. "Foreman?"

Link snorted. "I wish," he said, chuckling. "I just move the boxes where I'm told."

"And scrap, apparently," Sheik said, nodding to Link's hand. His knuckles were calloused and scraped, the evidence of numerous fights. "Didn't realise the boxes fought back."

"There's a lot of competition for those jobs," Link said, recalling the first nose he'd broken that day, hours before he met Sheik. "Gotta defend your position, unless you want someone to take it from you."

Sheik blinked. "Is...that so? And the foreman just lets that happen?"

Link blinked as well. "He takes the bets."

"Fucking hell," Sheik cursed under his breath. "Which warehouse is this?"

"Ingo Shipping," Link said. "The exact warehouse changes from day to day. It's generally between the moving the fights happen."

"Ingo Shipping," Sheik repeated a few times under his breath. "I don't envy your position."

"Who would?" Link asked.

"Well, someone who—"

There was the sound of a car horn outside. Three short, three long, and one final note that stretched on for at least five seconds. Link went to the window and looked out, spotting the car in question...and gaped.

When Sheik had said they were sending a car, he'd expected something...well, normal. Maybe even a truck, if subtlety was the goal. The sleek, black-and-silver monstrosity of a car outside, complete with a pair of Sheikah dressed in black suits standing outside, was the utter opposite of that. Link didn't know the exact model of the car, but he knew it was one of the luxurious brands that cost more than he could make in a century if he forewent fancy things like food and water.

"Fuck, she sent the Rolls, didn't she?"

Ah, there it was.

"Y-Yeah," Link said hesitantly, realising one of the Sheikah below were looking right at him, her face hidden behind a pair of thick aviator sunglasses. Was this the cousin? She certainly looked quite...bulky. The sort of bulky that could easily break Link in half if she so wanted.

"I asked for something that wouldn't attract too much attention," Sheik said with suffering sigh.

Just how high up in the hierarchy was Sheik, anyway, if this was how his transport was arranged?

"Thank you, again," Sheik said, paying no mind to Link's internal panicking. "I will have this shirt cleaned and returned to you." He paused. "Oh, I almost forgot." He held out a hand. "My tanto?"

"Huh?"

Sheik rolled his eyes. "My knife."

"Oh, right." Link handed it back, and Sheik stuck it in the waistline of his trousers.

"We're generally expected to treat these like we would a lover, and never part with them," Sheik explained. "I'd rather you kept quiet about it being used against me?"

"Sure thing."

"Right...well..." He hesitated before holding out his right hand. The gesture seemed a bit unfamiliar to him. "Thank you, Link."

Link took it, shaking lightly. "You're welcome. Get home safe, yeah?"

"I'll try," Sheik said.

And then he was gone.

Link watched the car below, saw Sheik emerge staggering from the alley beside the building, saw the strong-looking Sheikah woman run to his side, supporting him and scolding him all the while as she more or less threw him into the back of the car. She gestured angrily for the other Sheikah to get in the driver's seat, starting the engine. She threw one last glance up at Link before entering the car herself.

He watched the car glide away until it turned the corner, only breathing out when they were well and truly gone.

Link then cleaned himself up, had another drink, and went to bed early, completely done with the day and wanting to get on with the next.

* * *

Several weeks went by, and Link was almost convinced his brief run-in with the Yakuza was over.

* * *

He awoke to the car horn again, but when it didn't sound out again, he assumed it was a dream and tried to go back to sleep. It was his one day off, and he had no intention of wasting a single minute of sleep he could get. His body still ached from the beating he'd taken a few days prior, nearly losing his job in the process. He wasn't getting up for anything less than another Calamity or, preferably, the end of the fucking world.

Unfortunately, the world had other plans. He'd just barely managed to duck below the waves of sleepy oblivion when someone knocked on his door with thunderous strokes, threatening to splinter the poor, defenceless wood.

Grumbling, Link threw his blankets off and marched to the door, dressed in nothing but his underwear and an undershirt, unlocking and yanking open the door, barking "What?!" at whoever was on the other side.

Which turned out to be the strong-looking Sheikah woman that had picked up Sheik. Still dressed in a black suit, but with a blazing red tie, she did not look impressed with Link's current state.

Even if he'd worn something more than underwear, Link knew he'd be a sight. The right side of his face was a mess of yellow, blue, and black, the white of his eye red from burst blood vessels. There was a cut on his left cheek, left behind by a glancing blow from a pair of iron knuckles.

"You are Link?" the woman asked after giving him a once-over. He nodded. "I need you to get dressed and come with me."

"How about telling me who you are first, and hell no," Link said, really not in the mood and far too tired to care about this. If the Yakuza wanted to kill him for saving one of them, they were welcome to it as long as he got some damned _rest_!

The Sheikah frowned.

"My name is Paya, and I'm not giving you a choice in the matter. You have been summoned, and you _will_ answer. Get dressed or face the consequences."

"What're you going to do, twist my arm?" Link said, a small voice in the back of his mind telling him that the woman would be quite capable of doing just that.

"If I must," she replied, raising an eyebrow over her aviators. "Please don't make this more difficult than it has to be."

She shifted her posture, and Link saw the wooden sheath hidden under her jacket. Simple wood. The threat was implied. The world came a little more into focus, and he realised he really didn't have a choice here.

"Fine, fine, just...let me put one some pants?"

"Please hurry," Paya said. "I'll be waiting in the hall."

To make sure you don't try to run away.

She didn't need to say the last part.

Link couldn't deny that his fingers were shaking slightly as he found a pair of trousers and a clean shirt and did up the buttons. The braces didn't cooperate at first, but he eventually managed to clip them on. A quick look in the mirror told him his hair was a bit mussed from sleep, but otherwise fine. There was nothing to do about his face. Whoever had _summoned_ him would just have to deal with him looking like he'd faced the business end of a baseball bat.

He put on his fraying leather jacket and, after only hesitating for a moment (or five) went out into the hall, locking his door. Paya was waiting where she'd said she'd be, her posture ramrod straight. She gave him another once-over, wrinkling her nose slightly in displeasure, but finally nodding for him to follow.

"Should I have put my affairs in order?" Link asked flippantly, trying to hide his nervousness.

"That depends," Paya said simply as they left through the front door. It was a good thing they'd done this so early in the morning—otherwise Link had a feeling the landlord would throw him out on principle for bringing the dreaded blood-eyes to his building. The other Sheikah from back then was waiting at the car (the damned Rolls again), leaning against the side in a rather relaxed position.

"On what?" Link asked, but Paya didn't answer. Could she even see anything with those sunglasses at this hour?

"This him?" the driver (?) asked. His hair was a rather noticeable shade of purple, and Link couldn't imagine this one doing anything with subtlety.

"It's him," Paya confirmed. The male Sheikah nodded and opened the door to the backseat. "Go on, get in."

Link hesitated. This really was getting out of hand. Where were they even going to take him. He asked this out loud.

"That's classified," the purple-haired Sheikah said, grinning. "Come on, don't make us stuff you in the trunk. It's not comfortable back there, believe you me."

"You would know," Paya said quietly.

"One time," the other said, looking annoyed. "One time! And for what? Stealing a _mochi_!"

Link had no idea what a mochi was, but apparently it was something trivial. Paya shook her head and shoved at Link's back, pushing him towards the open backseat.

"We're wasting time," she said. "And I _will_ put you in the trunk if you don't get in right now."

Link surrendered and got into the car. The leather seats were so soft and comfortable, it was ridiculous. Paya got in the passenger seat, while the purple-haired one took the wheel. Paya threw something at Link, causing him to give a shout of surprise before realising it was a strip of black silk.

"Put that on," she ordered him.

"Er..."

"It's a blindfold, my man," the driver said helpfully. "Can't have you see where we're going."

This was just getting better and better. Link lamented his short life as he tied the blindfold in place, blacking out his world. It hurt where the blindfold stretched across his bruised skin, but he supposed it was better than getting stuffed into the trunk. The car's engine started with a purr, and they began moving. Link settled back in his seat, realising there was little he could do about this.

Well, he could open the door and jump out while the car was moving, but that was probably less-than-conducive towards his survival. He preferred his neck unbroken, to be honest.

At the front, someone turned on the radio, and the dulcet tones of some lounge singer filled the car. It only lasted for a few seconds before he heard the scratching of a tuner, and the lounge singer was quickly replaced by a male voice with an up-tempo drumbeat and the twang of an electric guitar in the background, singing about...blue shoes?

"Can't believe you enjoy this crap," the male Sheikah said. "It's just noise!"

"He's fantastic," Paya said adamantly. "Just because _you're_ deaf to genius, Kafei, doesn't mean the rest of us are."

"You've been spending too much time with Sheik," Kafei said sourly. "You know, he told me he wanted to learn to play the guitar the other day. Him! A guitar! All because of that song!"

"It'd give him something to do other than running off and getting himself into trouble," Paya said.

Link wasn't sure if they'd forgotten that he was in the back already, or if they were trying to put him at ease by speaking in Hylian instead of their own tongue. It did, however, put the mental image of Sheik trying to learn the guitar (and failing) in his head, and that was quite amusing. There'd be a lot of cursing, he imagined, before the poor instrument was smashed against the wall.

The ride lasted for about forty-five minutes, though Link suspected it was lengthened by Kafei taking several detours and doubling back a few times, just to confuse him. Link could have told him to save himself the trouble—he had absolutely no idea where they were.

The car eventually came to a halt, and Paya told him to take the blindfold off. They had parked in the courtyard of a dilapidated apartment building, the entrance behind them sealed off by a strong-looking wooden gate. Another suit-wearing Sheikah had closed it behind them, silently standing in the way.

"We're here," Kafei announced happily, removing the keys from the ignition and jumping out of the driver's seat. "I'll let them know we're here." He cast Link a pitying glance. "Good luck," he said seriously, and then the grin returned and he walked off.

"A few ground rules," Paya said, turning in her seat to stare at Link with a serious expression. She'd removed her aviators, revealing her crimson eyes to him. They were narrowed, promising hell to pay if he disobeyed. "You will not speak unless spoken to, and you will show the utmost respect. Any sudden movements, and you're dead. Understand?"

Who the fuck was he about to see?!

Link nodded, swallowing heavily. "Y-Yes."

Paya nodded. "And you will, of course, not speak a word of this to anyone else—not even your family."

"Don't have one," Link found himself saying before he could think, an unfortunate habit that showed itself whenever he was nervous. "But yeah, I get it."

"Good, then we will have no problems," Paya said, opening her door and getting out of the car. "Come."

He followed her into the apartment building, surprised to see that as ramshackle as it was on the outside, the interior had apparently been ripped out and replaced by polished wooden floors, sliding screen doors, and delicate paintings. He'd been told to leave his shoes on a tiled section of floor, set below the slightly elevated wooden floors, and was given a pair of soft slippers, the same sort that Paya, as well as the other Sheikah he spotted in the halls, wore.

Paya led him through the labyrinth of corridors, deeper into the complex and up several floors. They stopped outside a pair of double sliding doors at what Link assumed to be the heart of the building. Another pair of suited Sheikah stood guard outside the door, giving him suspicious looks.

Kafei stood in an alcove, having waited for them. "She's expecting you," he told Link. "Don't fuck this up, yeah?"

"Remember the rules," Paya told him seriously before nodding to the guards, who then opened the sliding doors fully, revealing the room within, and its occupants.

Link's heart skipped a beat. At least twenty Sheikah, all dressed in the same black suits, were sitting on their knees on the floor, ten on each side, forming a narrow corridor, at the end of which a small pillow stood on the floor. At the end of the room, on a slightly elevated wooden platform in front of the pillow, sat a severe-looking Sheikah woman.

She seemed to be in her late forties, with her silver hair cropped short. Multiple rings of various precious metals adorned her ears, a tattoo of a teardrop under her left eye. Unlike the others, she wasn't wearing a suit, opting instead for what seemed to be traditional, loose-fitting robes of some sort. They looked quite comfortable, in Link's opinion, but the expression on the woman's face was anything but.

Next to her, slightly behind and clad in a suit, sat Sheik. He looked a lot better than the last time Link had seen him. His face was just as severe as the woman's, but Link could definitely see his eyes soften a little upon spotting him.

Maybe he had an ally here, then, unlike the other suited Sheikah, who were...well, not glaring at him per se. If anything, their eyes were completely neutral, which was somehow even scarier.

"Walk to the end, and sit on the pillow," Paya whispered, prodding at Link's back. "On your knees."

Link did as he was told, making sure his movements were slow and smooth. He wasn't entirely sure how to sit like the Sheikah did (how did that not cut off the circulation in their legs?), but he did his best to emulate the position. The pillow helped a little, but he felt absolutely awkward.

In the corner of his eye, Sheik nodded slightly with approval. That was...a relief?

Behind him, he heard and felt Paya and Kafei settling themselves on the matted floor as well, flanking him. Probably to stop him from doing something stupid in case his sense of self-preservation decided to fly the coop.

The doors closed, and for a while the only sound in the room was that of breathing and Link's heart thundering against his chest.

It was a relief when the severe Sheikah finally spoke:

"So, you are the one who saved my foolish son's life."

Her voice was deep and smooth, fitting her appearance perfectly. Link balked at her words, however. This was clearly someone high up in the hierarchy, maybe even the leader...and Sheik was her _son_?! She was expecting an answer, and Link found himself nodding.

"I...yes."

"You witnessed four Hylian men beating a wounded, defenceless Sheikah, and did not hesitate in intervening," she continued. "You brought the Sheikah into your home, cleaned and dressed his wounds, allowed him to use your telephone to call for help, revealing your location to us. Yet, when offered a reward, you turned it down. Why?"

It all sounded well and good, but her tone was razor-sharp. There was clearly a right and wrong answer here, and fuck if Link didn't know what they were.

"I didn't want a reward for doing what was right," he said, settling on what was the most honest answer he could come up with. "I've seen what happens when people ignore others in need. I'm not like that. I have interfered with fights before, taken care of people who got hurt. I wasn't going to ignore him."

Despite how much hindsight was telling him that he should have.

The woman mulled over his words for a moment before nodding slowly.

"Your words ring true, though not many Hylians would do what you did for a Sheikah."

"I would do it for anyone."

Oh Hylia, when was he going to learn to keep mouth shut. Based on the quiet hiss behind him, Paya was wondering the same.

"A true saint, then?"

"Aunt, this is—"Sheik began, but he was cut off by a harsh bark from the purple-haired Sheikah.

"Quiet, brother!"

The woman didn't pay her son (nephew?) any attention, her gaze never leaving Link's. He wasn't sure of the protocol here. Was he supposed to meet her gaze? Stare back? Or was he supposed to avert his eyes out of respect? Wasn't there a rule, somewhere, about not looking royalty in the eyes? He wasn't sure where Sheikah matriarchs fell on the social ladder, but he was pretty damn sure it was as good as royalty to them and...and...oh Hylia, he was still staring back.

"You have backbone, boy," she said, smiling grimly. "I like that. And I like your attitude, even if I do not completely believe your words. Regardless of your motivations, you have done us a great service, and for that we owe you an equally great debt."

She bowed her head, and to Link's surprise, so did the rest of the room, even Sheik. All the while, the Hylian panicked as he did not know what to do in return.

"My name is Impa," she said as she straightened up. "I am the chief of the Half-Sun clan, and leader of this family. My word here is law, and as of this moment I name you a friend of the family."

"I...er...thank you?" Link said hesitantly, firmly ignoring the way Sheik pinched the bridge of his nose in annoyance.

Impa seemed more amused than offended by his response, which was a relief.

"There are few Hylians who have earned this," she explained. "Normally, a debt owed to outsiders is repaid financially. I am prepared to offer you a princely sum for the act of saving the life of one of my _kodomo_, one of my children. This one in particular, as he is the son of my late sister, and therefore very precious to me."

What a complicated family, Link's treacherous brain offered as an observation.

"However, as my nephew has taken a liking to you," Impa continued, "I am also prepared to repay the debt in another way. One that, perhaps, would be more agreeable to you."

Link braved the chance to stare at Sheik, and found the young man pointedly not looking at him. Instead, he appeared to be trying his hardest to make a hole in the floor with the weight of his glare, his cheeks red.

"You are alone," Impa said, bringing Link's attention back to her. "You have no friends, no family to speak of. Your life consists of waking up, going to work, fighting to protect your fragile position, and then going home. Eat, sleep, repeat."

He opened his mouth to protest, but...she was right. Link was utterly alone. His friends were long gone, either dead or having left town to pursue happiness elsewhere. His family...hah, like he would want to meet the people who'd abandoned him on the doorstep of the local Hylian temple, who'd immediately given him to the orphanage who'd kicked him at the age of nine and forced him to fight and steal to survive.

He'd been living his life in a mind-numbing routine because it was the first steady pattern he'd managed to find after growing up. He'd fought his way into the warehouse job, and he would keep fighting to maintain it...or until he died, he supposed.

Twenty-three years old, and he had practically given up already.

But how did she know this?

"I've had my children observe you for these past few weeks, ever since Sheik returned with a well-bound wound, telling stories of a Hylian who'd come to his aid," Impa said, as if reading his thoughts. "I wanted to know more about the young man who'd risked his life for a stranger, especially a worthless blood-eye. Tell me, Link, how old are you?"

He told her. She shook her head, though he wasn't sure if it was from disbelief or disappointment.

"Your life has barely begun," she said. "There might be a future for you in that warehouse, provided your position is not usurped _and_ you catch the attention of your overlords. I, personally, hate to see wasted potential. They might not see your true worth, but I do. I know the measure of your character, as does my family."

Link wasn't sure what was going on, but his heart was beating wildly now, the rush of blood filling his ears.

"If you are willing, I am prepared to offer you a place in my organisation, Link," Impa said. " A place in my clan. In my family."

"What?" he asked, looking up sharply. She looked entirely unrepentant.

"The debt must be repaid, and I believe giving you purpose fits you better than just money. If I am wrong, I will naturally see that your financial situation improves _drastically_, but I do not think that is what you truly desire."

"What...what would I even do? For you?" he asked. The promise of money was tempting, but what good would it do him, in the end?

"You know what sort of people we are," she said calmly. "What we are forced to do in order to protect what is ours. Honour and virtue are our creed, the tenets by which we live, but occasionally we must dirty our hands. We stay our blades from the innocent, but bring death to our enemies. We live outside of the law, but we have strict rules to follow. We are Yakuza—but we are also family."

She leaned forward, making sure she had his gaze trapped in hers.

"In particular, if you would join us, I would have you look after my nephew. Protect him, and make sure he doesn't do anything as monumentally stupid as what he did on the day you met. Accompany him on his jobs, learn the business alongside him. I have kept him hidden, isolated, for what I believed to be his own protection, but in reality, it only prompted him to escape the moment he saw an opportunity."

She turned her head, giving Sheik a long-suffering look that he avoided with a burning face.

"He is young, but the age of twenty is much too old to treat him like a child. I realise that now, and that I cannot keep him locked up any longer. So, I would like you to be his bodyguard, Link. In return, I offer you a family, a place to belong. You work for us, you protect us, and we protect you, and make sure you are comfortable."

Sheik was looking at him with an encouraging smile now, and Link found himself floundering for words. "I...I am not sure..."

"It is a lot to take in, I know," Impa said, not unkindly. "Especially given the manner in which you were brought here. I understand this, and I apologise. However, this was not an offer I could give in writing, or over the telephone. It had to be given in person, which I have now done. I understand if you would like to take some time to consider the offer. I bear you no ill will for that."

"Thank you," Link said, bowing his head and wondering if he was doing it right. "...er..."

"You may refer to me as Mistress Impa," she provided helpfully. "Though if you take the offer, _Mother_ will be more appropriate, as you will be my child in every way that matters. And they—"she gestured to everyone else in the room"—will be your brothers and sisters." She nodded. "Now, if you would like some time to consider my offer, you are free to leave—"

"I accept!"

One of the sisters in the orphanage had always told Link that his mouth would be the death of him, considering how it kept talking without any input from his brain. Another, kinder sister had told him his runaway mouth was a blessing in disguise, as it would always reveal his true feelings instead of letting him hide behind lies. Honesty was a difficult path, but one that could be walked with one's head held high. A load of shit, in Link's opinion, but in this case she'd been right. There was a lot to consider, given what he was getting himself into, but the thought of a family, a place to belong, a real purpose...it was too much for him to even think of turning it down.

Impa looked surprised at his outburst, but not offended. If anything, she was amused. "Is that so?" she asked. "Are you certain? Once you accept, there is no way out. This is a commitment you make for life. You live and die by our rules. Is this truly what you want? And think _carefully_ before you speak next, Link."

He did think carefully. He thought about the bruises and aches that weren't a result of his job, but the fights in between, forced on him by his superiors. He thought about his empty apartment, the utter lack of life in it, the lonely nights. He thought about the silence around him, the voices he'd lost and never hear again, the absence of new ones to replace those who'd gone. Had he really been living, this whole time, or just existing? What were his plans, exactly, other than hopefully not die in a bareknuckle fight behind a pile of shipping crates and unceremoniously left in the gutter to rot?

The answer was obvious, really.

He bowed deeply, putting his hands on the rough mat on the floor, letting his forehead touch it. He'd seen a photograph of such a position once, the text saying it was a sign of immense respect. Then he looked up into Impa's eyes, and said,

"I accept, Mother."

Impa said nothing for a moment, maintaining the stare for a painfully long time. "Very well," she finally spoke, bowing as well. "Then I bid you welcome to the family, my child."

The room exploded into claps as the gathered Sheikah gave their approval, welcoming their new brother. Behind him, Paya and Kafei were clapping as well, Kafei even putting a hand on Link's shoulder.

"Knew you'd make the right choice, little brother," he said proudly over the din.

"Well then," Impa said, the clapping dying down immediately. "It appears we have a ceremony to prepare. Sheik, take your new brother to Rena and get him some respectable clothing. We have standards to uphold, after all."

"Yes, Mother," Sheik said, bowing and stepping off the platform, urging Link to do the same.

Once they were back outside the meeting room, the doors shut behind them, Link realised what he'd just done, and felt the world tilt a little. Luckily, Sheik's hand on his lower arm kept him grounded, and he let the younger man drag him through the corridors towards...whoever this Rena was. A tailor, maybe?

"I was worried you were going to say no," Sheik said excitedly, acting completely different than when they'd first met. "Hell, I was worried _Impa_ was going to say no when I asked her, but—"

"Wait, _you're_ the one who suggested this?" Link asked, forcing Sheik to stop. The Sheikah refused to let go of his arm. "Why?"

"Well..."

He didn't seem to have any follow-up to that. His face did grow a little red again, though, and if Link didn't know any better, he'd think it was because Sheik...that he...he...

Oh.

"I just didn't want to see you go, I guess," Sheik said, scratching his neck nervously, pulling at the knot of his tie. "I know we got off on the wrong foot, but it's like Impa—er, Mother said: you have potential, and we'd be fools to just stand by and let it go to waste. Plus, with you at my back, maybe she'll finally let me get out there and _do_ something."

Well, Link supposed he could accept that. He'd be lying if he said he never wanted to see Sheik again.

"I...thank you, I guess?" Link said, unable to stop his grin. Sheik grinned back.

"You're welcome!" Sheik exclaimed, continuing to drag him down the corridors. "Now come on, we've got to get you a suit! Oh, and a new place, because your old one is a fucking travesty! Also, you'll want to stay away from Ingo Shipping's warehouses for a while—there's going to be a fire at some point."

"A what?"

"And then there's the driving tests, the sparring—oh, and you've got to learn the structure around here, and how to address the others, and...hell, there's a _lot_ you've got to learn!"

"Can we go back to the fire...?"

"Details, details! What shoe size do you use? Oh, and we should make an appointment with Pikango, so he can start planning your tattoo!"

He was going to regret this, wasn't he?


End file.
